


the path that led me to you

by anotherdirtycomputer



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Established Relationship, Fire Lord Zuko, Fluff, M/M, Married Life, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Trichotillomania, like.... ultra fluff, this is extremely fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 17:52:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16163894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherdirtycomputer/pseuds/anotherdirtycomputer
Summary: Zuko wakes up before Aang.





	the path that led me to you

**Author's Note:**

> had this sitting around for aaaages and finally finished it...
> 
> hope you enjoy! ♡

Zuko doesn’t tell anyone about the nightmares.

Sometimes they’re memories, quick and simple. He is begging, begging, crying, and then his father’s hand is cupping his face and Ozai is smiling and everything is okay for one brief, beautiful moment, and the minute Zuko dares to smile back is the moment he is blinded by pain, by agony, by fire. This is a frequent nightmare - one he has when he’s awake and sometimes briefly wonders when he will wake from.

Other times this memory becomes distorted. Ozai takes on the form of Ursa, or Iroh, or Azula, or even, sometimes, Zuko himself, with a smile he’s never seen splitting his own face.

Tonight, it was Aang.

Zuko opens his eyes and breathes deeply, the way he always does after a nightmare, taking in his surroundings for a moment before he turns over and shivers. He no longer feels the fear or the pain but his scar feels strange and new and old at the same time. Sweat lingers on his skin.

Aang sleeps next to him, his eyebrows pulled together, the soft flesh of his mouth pushed into a pout. He mumbles, but Zuko doesn’t catch any words, and so kisses Aang’s forehead, just at the tip of the blue arrow, and then lies back to sigh.

The sun isn’t shining yet through the window, but it will soon, he knows. Luckily, he’d retired early the night before in compliance to Katara’s motherly demand, and wouldn’t suffer if he stayed awake to watch the sunrise paint the bedroom with morning light.

He pulls the covers over Aang’s bare shoulders, unable to resist leaving another kiss, this time just between his furrowed brows, before leaving the bed and going to the mirror nearby to wash his face, comb his hair. He lights a candle easily before setting to his task.

The routine is comforting. In the dim light, he feels no rush.

He pulls his hair up, using a small amount of water to slick back the tiny hairs that don’t fit in the top knot. He washes his face carefully, unwilling to touch his scar. After nightmares, touching it is strange. He’s into his twenties now and will have soon lived with the scar longer than without.

The thought frightens him, a bit, but there’s something strange in his chest that twists with some odd glee for it. This scar defines him, he thinks as he gently dries his face. This scar marked his path towards becoming a good man, a good ruler, and a good husband, and it has lead him all the way here.

When his face is properly cared for, he lets his hair down, and wets it, too, with his hands. He combs through it carefully, arranging his hair to hide any balding or uneven ends. The longest parts are past his shoulder, and he wonders briefly if cutting those parts would be too obvious. He’s the Fire Lord, after all; people will notice things like that, the same way they’ve noticed he wears his hair down more often than not.

The spot on the right, just above his ear, is the most obvious. It’s the place he pulls frequently, that he can’t seem to quite stop himself from messing with, even when the need is small and everything is calm.

He shakes his head, sighing, telling himself it’s fine. The hair will grow long enough to cut naturally soon, and the ends will all meet in due time. Maybe. He tells himself that the present is not the future, only a gateway. He tells himself that hair is stupid. The first sounds like his uncle, and the second too much like Toph. It makes him smile. He’ll have to arrange to see them both soon.

Hair free of tangles now, he tries to find a way to pull it into the traditional top knot, but it’s difficult, and only so much of it fits. With his hands still shaky from the nightmare, too, he decides to leave it down for now.

_After all_ , the memory of Toph’s voice says, _hair is stupid_.

The sun, by now, has begun to rise through the chamber windows, and when Zuko looks back at Aang, he’s awake, smiling at him.

“Good morning,” they say at the same time, then smile.

Zuko stands and walks to meet his husband on the bed. He leans over and lays a kiss on Aang’s mouth, whispers, “Hi, Aang,” against his smile.

Aang hums, knocking the sides of their noses together. His eyes are warm and still heavy with sleep. “Bad dream?”

“That obvious?” Zuko smiles, still, sheepishly, and holds the side of Aang’s face in his hand, swipes his thumb across Aang’s cheekbone. Then, before he can worry, “I slept well. It seems like you did, too.”

Aang grins at the tease. “That obvious?”

“That obvious.”

Zuko’s pulled down onto the bed, laying over his husband. Aang kisses at his face, his lips, and Zuko can feel his teeth through the press of his mouth. “How obvious?”

Zuko laughs. “Get out of bed,” he murmurs. “Let’s have breakfast together.”

Aang pauses, staring Zuko in the eye thoughtfully, one eyebrow raised. His hand smooths over Zuko’s arm, thumb rubbing little warm circles against his skin. “In the garden?”

Zuko smiles. “Sounds lovely.” Another kiss. And another. A few more. “But we have to get up to go there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely sure.”

Aang sighs, lolls his head to the side humorously. It’s all Zuko can do not to roll his eyes. “I guess we’ll just have to stay here all morning until someone calls for us.” He meets Zuko’s eyes. “ _S_ _mooching_.” He winks.

Zuko laughs again, his chest so much lighter than when we woke. Aang is good at that - at making him happy. He always has been. “Smooch yourself, airhead. I’m hungry.” He tries to pull himself out of bed, but Aang’s strong arms are wrapped around him tightly. “The Avatar’s duties are vast, diverse, and important - much like the world and the people therein - and one of these duties is-”

“Smooching?” So hopeful.

Zuko tries and fails to appear unamused. “Feeding your husband tiny cakes by the pond.”

The smile on Aang’s face should be classified as a weapon. That smile could convince Zuko to do just about anything, and Aang knows it well.

“And I _suppose_ smooching.”

Aang’s smile grows. “Mostly just smooching.”

With a fond sigh, Zuko shakes his head. “Alright, Avatar,” He drops his head to smile. “But _only_ if you get up and get us breakfast.”

Zuko jumps back in surprise when Aang leaps out of bed the way only an airbender can, watching him fly across the room to run out the door. “Meet you at the pond!”

“No, Aang!” It’s not often Zuko laughs, even nowadays, but he can’t help it. He falls into giggles. “Put pants on first!”

But, Aang is already barreling down the hall, if the surprised shouts of guards mean anything, perfectly content in his nudity. Zuko brings a hand up over his eyes and laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

He never imagined he would be this happy.

He jogs out after Aang, apologizing to his guards as he follows the ruckus his husband has created. For a moment, all he can think is, ‘Today is going to be a wonderful day.’

**Author's Note:**

> comment and kudos are a firelord's best friend!


End file.
